Friendly Games
by lefeyz
Summary: A rather curious encounter from the younger days of Sir Amik, the leader of the White Knights. Note: In chess,a friendly game is "one that is not played as a part of a match, tournament or exhibition and is often untimed." Wikipedia


Title: Casual Games

Fandom: RuneScape

Rating: PG for language

Genre: General

Summary: A rather curious encounter from the younger days of Sir Amik Varze, the leader of the White Knights.

Notes: 1)I haven't read Betrayal at Falador and do not intend to. All the characterisation and such is entirely based on the game.

2) Casual game or friendly game in chess refers to "A game that is not played as part of a match, tournament, or exhibition and is often untimed" (Definition by courtesy of Wikipedia)

uCasual Games/u

Captain Amik Varze had a vague hunch that having been arrested for being drunk and disorderly could be considered a real hindrance for further promotion. But right now that wasn't his most prominent problem. What was most essentially bothering him at the moment was the well-known fact that sleeping in plate armour would leave a man black, blue and sore for days. And as he was

Wearing plate armour

lying down and about to fall asleep on a bunk bed

way too drunk to even loosen the fastenings on his platebody

-this worried him greatly.

He hadn't meant to. It had just happened. If his memory served him right, it had been sometime after midnight when the landlord of the Rising Sun had kicked out the whole dozen of young officers. Prysin had then introduced the idea of making the half-mile journey down to Port Sarim where they allowed drinkers to get drunk, unlike this sissy who would be out of business by the end of the year if went on throwing out paying customers.

Later to the night the air had been at its all time high in the Rusty Anchor when some pillocks calling themselves the town guard had come in and requested that they Leave These Premises. Amik had had absolutely no intention of Leaving Those Premises. He had told the guard so. He had also told him what he thought of the strength of the man's chainmail when faced with, say, a dagger of whitened steel. There was a blank spot in his memory there, but afterwards he had been in the reception of the Port Sarim township jail where one of the twits had confiscated both his dagger and his sword, telling him he'd be given a receipt upon his release. Like he needed a receipt to take down a lot of pansies like them –something else he had told the guard. Then he had been walked –dragged-carried-brought into this cell, where they had hauled him onto a top bunk, likely with the ulterior motive that he could fall off and croak. He'd get out in the morning and this would be reported to his superiors in Falador. Like he gave a damn. It was having to sleep in his armour that bugged him.

In addition, he had a spinal cord-level feeling that the cell's only other inhabitant, who occupied the bottom bunk of the bed across his, was neither asleep, drunk, nor bona fide. Amik could make out nothing of the figure except the outline: human, male, clad in nondescript black. His side rose and fell regularly, but without the relaxation of the unconscious.

"Not asleep, White Knight?" The accent was refined but the voice itself had a low purr that related it to Southern Kandarin, or even Northern Karamja. And just intuitionally, to danger.

"Can't sleep in this bloody tin can."

"Rather unadvisable, I hear."

"You tell me about it."

"I tell you what, White Knight. I help you out of that armour and you tell me what it's made of."

As the other man probably knew well enough, the manufacturing of the white armour was a jealously held secret not even the knights themselves were told before they had served for a year. Not that it made the prospect of sleeping in it any more appealing. "You know we're not s'posed to impart that knowledge to the uninshitish –to non-members."

Amik's addled mind never registered any sound or sight of movement, but now there was beside his bed the upper half of a young man, apparently standing on the edge of the lower bunk. Probably a few years his junior. Dark hair, brown skin, too many too white teeth. Damn hard to see in the dark.

"No harm in satisfying a man's professional curiosity."

There was a clink as the stranger undid the fastenings of his platebody. The weight of the breastplate rose from his chest. His cellmate studied the gleaming piece of armour in what little light the torch in the corridor beyond the bars could offer.

"As far as I've understood the white is just a surface."

Amik remained silent for a moment. Confidential information be damned, his body still felt too tightly constricted inside the suit of metal. Besides, the lad didn't seem particularly dangerous after all, just plain cheeky. If there was any harm in telling, he could not, given his state, be blamed for his lapse. His back ached already. There would be no harm in telling.

"Correct. It's just regular double-carbonated steel. The whitening is done afterwards with acid and chrome. "

"That makes it basically the same as that of the Kinshra."

"Pretty much."

"Except that the Black Knight's is stronger since the acid somewhat fragilises the metal. But that's no price at all to pay for everyone knowing you're one of the good guys, is it?"

"Sounds like there's nothing new I could have told you."

"No harm done then, as I said. See, I'll even keep my own end of the deal."

The stranger carefully laid down the breastplate. Amik's world tilted sickeningly as the back half of his armour was manhandled from underneath him. There was further clinking as his legs were unfastened and pulled off. Then the half-a-cellmate disappeared, judging by the thump, to return to his own bunk.

"Now you should be able to walk tomorrow, White Knight. I say, what on earth did the lot of you get done in for anyway?"

"Being drunk and disherderlerly, exhibiting unruly behaviour, resisting arrest, disrespecting an officer of the law or two…sod 'em all and their crappy armour. How 'bout yourself?"

"Being In The Wrong Place At The Wrong Time, I'm afraid…Nothing new there. Well, at least you got to keep your armour. Wasn't as lucky myself there. Looks like they don't dare to lay their hands on the property of Falador armoury, eh? Speaking of which, I was under the impression that you were supposed to be, how does it go again - 'Just, modest, courageous-'

"Ever modest, just, pious and courageous in thought, word and deed my duty is to defend and fight for the meek and the wronged, the crown of Asgarnia and the glory of Our Lord Saradomin", recited Amik, jutting up his right arm to salute the ceiling. It turned out to be closer than he had estimated and scraped the skin off his knuckles.

"And how do you think you are managing that at the moment?" sounded the inquired over a string of curses.

"Am not breaking any of the main points."

"Which are?"

"The crown and Our Lord. The rest isn't as much rules as guidelines."

"I see. So in fact it could be shortened into "Do as thou wilt but gut all the Kinshra and Zamorakians you run to."

"Pretty much."

There was a silence from the bunk across, but Amik could almost hear the man's grin.

"There's a nice symmetry to it, don't you think? How you couldn't remove one without destroying the other? The Saradominist White Knights and the Zamorakian Kinshra, forever locked in their balance of terror. I've always thought it a rather Guthixian arrangement."

"You kind of lose your gusto for philosophising about it once a few of your mates have been done in by the other side."

i"Why, I sure haven't, White Knight. I surely haven't."/i

Soon-probably-no-more-to-be-Captain Varze was too long gone towards unconsciousness to give a toss what the brat meant. Brat. That's what it was. One cheeky, snotty kid who ought to be taught manners about cheeking its superlierer officerers.

"…Be damned anyway."

i"That's something you get used to, White Knight."/i

***

First there was a creak. Then there were footsteps, shuffling, more steps of more feet and an almighty clang of iron hitting iron. The sound echoed hundredfold in Amik's overhung head.

"And there's a receipt for your weapons. Now get lost and don't let me catch you again."

"I assure you I shan't. But it does look like you've spelled my name wrong here. It is d-a-q-u-a, not d-u-c-k-w-a-r, as a thinking man like yourself is no doubt interested to know."

"I said get lost, scum, or I'll do you for Trying To Fuck With An Officer Of The Law."

"There is no call for rudeness, sergeant. Sir, gentlemen, good day to you." Another door creaked open and clanged shut, letting in for a second the sounds of a morning in a port.

They'd probably fetch him soon. And if his head survived the journey back to Falador there would be an almighty disciplinary hearing from Major General Cashien, likely to be shouted at the top of his lungs. He'd be lucky to keep a single one of his hard-earned stripes. Hell, they'd probably garnish him.

But that wasn't the most prominent problem of Captain Amik Varze. What was essentially bothering him at the moment was the fact that his cellmate had walked out wearing his armour.

FINISHED!!!

5


End file.
